


Earth Forty-Two

by brinshannara



Series: 52 Times Alex and Maggie Met [8]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Earth, F/F, Multiverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 08:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18891301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brinshannara/pseuds/brinshannara
Summary: What if Alex Danvers decided to become a pro athlete instead of a DEO agent? What if Maggie Sawyer was a detective working with the Drug Enforcement Administration on a case? What if Alex was caught up in that investigation?





	Earth Forty-Two

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this Earth came from [Lurkz](https://archiveofourown.com/users/Lurkz/pseuds/Lurkz). Here's what I was given as requirements:
> 
> \- Kara's existence being up to me  
> \- If she does exist, Kara and Alex aren't as close as on the show  
> \- Alex is out to everyone  
> \- Alex is a pro athelete  
> \- Maggie is out to everyone  
> \- Maggie is still a detective  
> \- Both are single
> 
> Instead of taking up J'onn's offer to join the DEO, Alex drops out of grad school and falls back on pro sports. They meet during one of Maggie's investigations (Alex is innocent but up to you if Maggie considers her a suspect or not).
> 
> Huge thanks to [Sralinchen](https://twitter.com/Sralinchen) for the beta!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos remind me that, though I write primarily for myself, others do appreciate it when I put my stuff out there. Thanks for reading. :)

It was a noise that woke her. It was her teledevice. Why was it jingling? Blearily, she reached out from beneath her covers and felt around for the device on her nightstand. She managed to grab it and answer the call, cracking just one eyelid open.

"Yeah," she rasped, closing her eye again.

After listening to the person on the other end of the line, Maggie Sawyer opened her eyes.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," she complained. "Isn't this DEA jurisdiction?"

She sighed and pulled the teledevice from her ear to look at the time. "Ramsey, it's ura one. It's late."

She listened to him ramble for an arc. "Okay, okay, _fine_ ," she growled. "Fine. Tell him I'll be there in 30 arcs." Without another word, she ended the call and forced herself to sit up in bed. Liaising with the Drug Enforcement Administration just because some drug shipment was supposedly coming to National City was stupid. Even stupider, her presence was specifically _requested_ by the guy in charge, Special Agent Robert Harrison.

Maggie sighed as she swung her legs off the side of the bed and got up. The two of them didn't always get along but, when she'd been in Metropolis, the two of them had cracked a case together. She grudgingly had to admit that they worked well enough together.

She started the coffee machine and pulled on some clothes. Harrison _knew_ she hated this in-the-dead-of-night bullshit. _This had better be good,_ she thought to herself, as the coffee brewed.

 

***

 

Forty arcs after hanging up with Ramsey, Maggie Sawyer got out of her unmarked patrol hoverpod at a specified address in the industrial part of town. She walked up to the door of what seemed to be an old warehouse and knocked a rapid pattern.

"Sawyer!" Harrison said, opening the door with a grin. "Nice of you to join us."

"You did this on purpose, Harrison," she grumbled, entering the makeshift DEA base.

"Who, moi?" he laughed, locking the door behind her. He was tall and gangly, as though he'd never quite filled out and grown into his adult body. He was over forty gers and his brown hair was going grey, not to mention thinning, yet he wore jeans and hoodies whenever possible. Harrison was an eternal child, with a sense of humour to match. Worse, he knew exactly how to get to Maggie and he delighted in giving her a hard time.

She shot him a look before returning her attention to the room. It was a fairly large office that opened out on to a smallish warehouse. Within the office were several different monitors, showing a variety of live camera feeds, along with four separate other agents who were scanning the live feeds and reporting to someone through comms channels. A large map of the main National City Port and its immediate environs was on the wall, with another map showing the entire city nearby. Certain points of apparent interest had been circled in red marker.

"Okay, Harrison, what am I doing here at…" She checked her watch. "Ura two in the morning?"

"Glad you asked!" he said. "This is the team." He pointed at them in turn. "Connor Wilson, Eve McBride, Mickey St. Pierre and John Wallace."

She nodded. The team hadn't responded at all, no doubt focused on their surveillance. "So? What's going on?"

"Ever heard of D17?"

Maggie looked at him blankly. "No?"

He nodded and indicated she should have a seat at a free table.

She sighed and was glad she'd brought coffee with her. Harrison's explanations had a tendency to be, well, long.

"D17 is a chemical compound that originates outside of our solar system," he began, "which is one of the reasons I requested you. You know more about aliens outside of our own little neighbourhood than most people do."

"It's late, Harrison, let's get to the point faster."

"Right. So D17 has as a major ingredient, to the best of our knowledge, the blood of an alien race called the Dominators."

She snorted. "Great name," she scoffed.

"Don't let the name fool you, Sawyer," he warned, "these guys mean business. Luckily, we don't think we're dealing with them."

"Okay, you lost me."

Harrison paced. "We think the compound is made from their blood, not that _they_ made it."

She considered the distinction. "So what, someone's bought some blood from these guys?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. We can't be sure. Another option is if someone's holding Dominators captive. If that's the case, we're up against something worse than the Dominators which, frankly, I can't really even begin to fathom."

Maggie looked at him. Harrison actually looked scared. "Okay. So what's the blood mixed with?"

"The sample we managed to get is mostly epoetin, mixed with the blood. Like an 80-20 mix," he said.

"In English, Harrison."

"Sorry," he said, "epoetin is a synthetic version of erythropoietin. It serves to improve oxygen flow to the muscles."

"So we're talking performance enhancers in sports?" she asked.

"With an alien twist," he nodded.

She sipped at the portable travel mug full of coffee she'd brought, thinking. "Well, I'm not sure it was worth getting out of bed for, Harrison, but that's a lot more interesting than I thought it would be." She took another sip. "So why am I here in the middle of the night?"

"Wilson, report," he called.

"Nothing yet, sir," the blonde guy, who couldn't have been more than 25 gers or so, responded.

"Keep me posted."

"Yes, sir."

Harrison pulled out the chair next to Maggie and turned it around, sitting ass-backwards in it, resting his arms on the back. "Word on the street has it that the largest shipment yet of D17 is arriving tonight on a ship called the _Grampian_ , originating from a Chinese port."

She raised an eyebrow. "Wait, we're doing a bust tonight?"

He shook his head. "We're going to follow it. We have assets at the port and on the streets."

Maggie nodded. "Okay. Any clues as to the destination?"

"We don't have confirmation, but we have a pretty good guess."

"You gonna let me in on it?"

"The US Olympic Track and Field trials start next week, here in National City, as do the US Olympic Swimming trials."

She gave a low whistle. "Well, shit."

He grinned. "Still upset about losing your beauty sleep, Sawyer?"

"Shut up, Harrison. Have you started profiling any of the athletes yet?" She was fully awake and ready to start tackling things.

He smiled. "So glad you asked." He stood and collected a stack of files and dumped them in front of Maggie. "Enjoy!"

She started reading through the files, starting with the coaches and trainers, looking for any prior arrests or charges, before moving on to the athletes themselves, paying special attention to ones with prior suspensions, just trying to get a feel for the possibilities, separating the potentially interesting people from the others by splitting the stack into two piles as she skimmed through them.

An ura, and another entire coffee, into her research, Wilson called out that they had visual contact with the _Grampian_.

Together, they all watched the monitors as the ship started to get unloaded. The crate they were interested in, 4382662, was under three other crates. The port authority had confirmed that it was to be loaded directly onto a large, land-based hauling wagon.

Maggie turned to Harrison. "Do we have the driver as an asset? What's happening here?"

"The port authority has trackers in a few places on the wagon," he assured her.

"But no asset is going with them?" Maggie asked.

"No," he said, "we didn't have time to get someone in place."

"Shit," she muttered. "We have aerial surveillance?"

Harrison frowned. "You think we need it? It's a shipping container for God's sake. They're not going to swap it en route. They'd need a crane."

"How do you know? A few pounds of this stuff might be all that's worthwhile in the shipping container." Frustrated, she picked up her teledevice.

"Who are you calling?"

"Backup," she spat. "Yeah, Ramsey, it's Sawyer. I need as many unmarked hoverpods as possible to cover Jacob Street, Miller Avenue, High Street and…" She stood up and looked at a map of the city. "And at least one car on Cordova." She paused. "When do you think, Ramsey? Next ger? Jesus. How about immediately? Come on, get dispatch on it. Unmarked. They're looking for a land-based wagon carrying a dark red shipping container and they are _not_ to pursue, just observe. Don't let them get caught. Stagger them along the streets." She hung up before he could complain. _Christ, do I have to do everything around here?_

Harrison cleared his throat. "Don't you think you should have asked me about that first?" he asked.

She pulled her jacket on. "Don't you think you should have thought about this so I didn't have to?"

"Where are you going?"

"I'm the closest. I'm going in."

"The hell you are," Harrison said. "You don't have backup, you don't even have a vest."

"You gonna stop me?"

He sighed. "Be careful, Sawyer."

"I'm not looking to get killed tonight, trust me." With that, she grabbed an earbud. "This work?" she asked. At his nod, she shoved it in her ear. "Tell me when the wagon leaves the port," she said, then stalked out of the temporary base of operations and got into her pod. She turned the ignition and did some mental math. "Okay, the service road leads to Dalry, from there, they can get to Jacob, High, Cordova and Miller. Is that it?" She started piloting towards Dalry, keeping an eye out for any potential areas where a switch could occur. Something didn't feel right about this.

As she approached Dalry, she debated turning off her headlights and decided it would attract too much attention. Instead, she cruised down the street relatively slowly, keeping an eye out for anyone looking suspicious in a hoverpod who might be acting as a lookout. She didn't see anyone as she piloted down the street and that worried her. The wagon with the shipping container would have a choice of four roads to take, each leading away from the port and towards a different area of town. She sighed and pulled a U-turn at the end of the street and then cruised back down the way she'd come. She turned right as she approached Miller street and went slightly faster as she kept an eye out for potential lackeys. There was no part of her that remotely believed this was as simple as it seemed. If this was as big as Harrison was making it out to be, if the different associations that made up the US Olympic team were involved, then things could not possibly be this simple.

She headed down Cordova street and saw a colleague in an unmarked pod. _Well, at least Ramsey is getting his shit together,_ she thought as she made eye contact with the cop and continued on. She spent the next twenty arcs combing the nearby streets and the only people she saw keeping an eye on things were her own people.

"The container's been loaded on the wagon," Harrison's voice came through the earpiece, sounding tinny. "They'll be pulling out of the port in the next five."

She nodded to herself and pulled out the hand-held microphone from the console between the front seats. "Dispatch, this is 2483, Sawyer reporting, over."

"2483, Dispatch, go ahead, over."

"Dispatch, would you please alert the folks Ramsey pulled in that the target's departure is imminent, over."

"Confirmed, target's departure is imminent, copy that, 2483."

"Thanks," she said, "Sawyer out." She tucked the microphone back into its spot and continued driving around, keeping an eye out for any lookouts or the wagon itself.

After ten arcs, she heard Harrison over her earpiece. "Sawyer, it's heading east down Jacob Street," he said.

"Acknowledged," she replied, pulling her microphone back out. "Dispatch, 2483, target is on Jacob Street heading east, repeat, target is on Jacob Street heading east, over."

"2483, Dispatch, confirmed east on Jacob, over."

"Sawyer out."

She accelerated and soon found herself on Jacob, passing by another colleague of hers in a parked unmarked hoverpod. He gave a thumbs up and a nod and she nodded back. Maggie pushed down on the accelerator a little more firmly, hoping to catch up to the wagon.

A couple of arcs later, she saw it ahead of her. "Harrison, I have visual," she said.

"And?"

"And what? I'm staring at the container on the wagon," she snapped. "I'll let you know if there's any funny business."

"Why do you always have to bust my balls, Sawyer?"

"Because they're there, Harrison," she grinned, despite the situation.

"Very funny."

"I thought so." She was careful to allow other pods between her and the wagon, thankful for the late-night traffic. They continued on Jacob until the wagon turned north on Forest Avenue. She followed, but missed the light.

"Dispatch, 2483, requesting two units to follow the target heading north on Forest, over."

"2483, Dispatch, request confirmed, over."

"Thanks, Dispatch. Sawyer out."

She drummed her fingers on her steering apparatus, waiting impatiently for the light to change. The wagon could have gone anywhere in the intervening thirty secundi. Finally, it turned green and, luckily, there was no oncoming traffic, allowing her to turn left and continue along Forest Avenue. She didn't see the wagon and cursed softly under her breath.

"Harrison, where are they?"

"I thought you had visual?"

"Harrison, where's your damn tracker say they are?"

"Uh… Going east on Morrison," he said.

"Got it, thanks," she said. Again, she reached for her microphone. "Dispatch, 2483, requesting units to follow east along Morrison, over."

"2483, Dispatch, confirmed, over."

"Thanks," she said, "Sawyer out."

She sped down Forest until it crossed Morrison, then turned right. At least two blocks ahead, she saw the wagon.

"Regained visual, Harrison," she said.

"Acknowledged."

She slowed down. There wasn't any other traffic to keep a buffer between her and the wagon, so she elected to stay as far back as seemed convincing. After a few more arcs on Morrison, her target turned right into a gated property and pulled into a warehouse. Maggie cruised past. "Harrison, they've just pulled in an industrial park at 827 Morrison."

"Acknowledged, we confirm."

"Dispatch, 2483, all units stand down, thank you, over,"

"2483, Dispatch, confirm all units stand down, over."

"Sawyer out."

Now, of course, all there was to do was to wait. She went back past the address and then stopped before turning around and situating herself to keep an eye on things.

After a full ura with no one entering or exiting the property, Maggie started to get concerned. "Harrison, are the trackers still there?"

"Affirmative," he said. "They haven't moved."

"Confirmed here, no one's gone in or out since the wagon itself." She tapped her fingers against the steering apparatus in thought. "This isn't how I'd run this operation," she said.

"Me either," confessed Harrison. "I'd want to distribute things immediately. Is there any sign of activity?"

"Negative," she said. "But they're still in there, since no one's left."

"Can you get a cop to stake it out?"

She rolled her eyes. "What do you think I'm doing?"

"I mean another cop, Sawyer."

She shrugged. "I'm here. I can do it."

"Do you want to?"

"Look, you wanted me on this case. I'm not going to make some other poor person come out at nearly ura five in the morning to stake out a warehouse."

"Your call," he said.

"Just let me know if the trackers move."

"Will do."

She shifted in her seat and stretched a bit. She was getting tired, but hopefully something would happen soon. Nothing about this seemed right. If it were up to her, she would have done a switch, or two, to throw off any law enforcement. Then, she'd have brought the drugs to a place to divide them up into parcels for the various buyers, most of whom would be in a rush to get their stuff and get out of there. She shook her head. Something was wrong.

After another two ure, there was finally movement and two men left the warehouse, neither one carrying anything. One got into a hoverpod, one opened the gate and the pod, a green four-door model, cruised out of the gate, before stopping, presumably waiting for the man who'd opened the gate.

"Harrison, we have movement. Two men are getting into a green four-door, license plate November Charlie X-ray 1-Niner-Six."

"Acknowledged, Sawyer," he said, sounding tired. "Are you in pursuit?"

"No. Can you confirm if any of the trackers have moved?" She was wondering if there was another exit to the yard.

"I'll check… Mickey, any motion?"

She waited a seeming eternity for the response.

"Negative, Sawyer, that's a negative on the motion."

"They weren't carrying anything when they came out." She frowned. "So what, they just left it in there and locked up?" she asked as the green pod sped down Morrison.

"Look, I don't know, okay? Why don't you come back here and we'll try to work it out. The package isn't moving, you're saying it's locked behind a gate…"

She hesitated.

"I'm ordering coffee. Real coffee. From a real coffee shop."

"Get me a sesame seed bagel, dry, double-toasted," she said, "and a large coffee, black."

"Dry?" He made a retching noise. "Sawyer, that's just gross."

"Be there in ten arcs," she said.

The package, such as it was, didn't move all that day and, even after a nap, Maggie was getting annoyed.

"What the hell, Harrison? You know this isn't normal. Can you reach out to your contact and verify?"

"I've tried. He hasn't gotten back to me yet." He ran his fingers through what remained of his hair. "Why don't you go home and get some rest? I'll call with any news."

She nodded. "I'm gonna take some of these files to continue looking for likely buyers."

"Sure," he said.

She grabbed an armful of files for various athletes and coaches she hadn't yet fully gone through and headed out the door. She put them on the passenger seat of her pod. Yawning, she stretched and walked to the driver's side door. She was home within ten arcs and asleep five arcs after that.

When Maggie awoke, she fumbled blearily for her teledevice. It was just past ura 21, so she'd been asleep for about five ure. She frowned and swiped through her notifications on the device. No news from Harrison. She yawned and padded to the bathroom to use the facilities.

She considered going back to bed, but she was hungry and could use a shower. She ended up showering and then cooking a modest pasta meal, which she ate while going through more files. She'd isolated a bunch of them earlier that day — people with prior suspensions, weird doping results that didn't necessarily lead to disqualifications and the like. These were the ones she'd discarded, but she never liked just leaving it up to first impressions. While she had great instincts, part of being a detective was, well, detecting. She had to be ready for the next clue to come from anywhere, whether she initially thought of it as innocuous or not.

Maggie sighed as she finished her pasta and pushed her dish aside, along with a seventh file. She sipped at her beer and pulled the eighth over to her.

She scanned the file's summary — she had to remember to thank Harrison's team for the excellent summaries — and raised an eyebrow. The subject was a prior Olympic silver medalist. No history of doping charges, nothing suspicious, but she had a medical degree and lived most of the ger here, in National City. She stuck a red sticker on the front of the file to make sure she remembered to look more thoroughly into the woman, if warranted. While the athlete might not have been taking drugs in the past, it wasn't entirely out of the question that she would want to improve her chances. She was in her late 20s and while that didn't mean she couldn't win her events cleanly, it did make it a bit more difficult. If she even made the team, it could be her last Olympics.

She chewed her lip and looked at the name on it again. DANVERS, ALEXANDRA. Yeah, she definitely wanted to know more about this Danvers woman.

 

***

 

When Maggie woke up the next morning, Harrison had sent her an epost indicating that his source had been mistaken on the crate's number. They'd been following the wrong crate, which explained all kinds of things, from the lack of lookouts, to the lack of activity once the crate got to its destination.

As such, they were stuck focusing on the likeliest individuals who would be potentially interested in wanting the drug — the coaches and, specifically, the athletes. The combined list from Maggie's and Harrison's research from the day before would be asked to come in first. Harrison left the choice about joining in on the investigation to Maggie. She considered it and decided that she'd continue with the interviews. At the very least, there should be a representative of the police department in on this.

 _Damn feds,_ she scoffed to herself as she started her coffee. _Always trying to shove us out of our jurisdiction._

By ura nine in the morning, Maggie was at the DEA field office where they were conducting interviews and was joining in with some of the questioning, along with Connor and Eve.

"So," she said, flipping through the coach's file, "Mr. Preston, what can you tell us about this count of distribution of a Class C banned substance, from three gers ago?"

The man, 32 gers old, smiled. "You should have informed me I should have my lawyer with me."

Maggie smiled at him. She'd put a lot of work into that smile. It wasn't a particularly nice smile. It was a smile meant to make someone think she knew more than she did. It was a smile meant to intimidate. So she smiled at him and watched his own start to fade.

"We're just interested in chatting, Mr. Preston," she replied. "There's no obligation for you to be here and there's no need to get a lawyer involved."

He looked across the table at her and then glanced at Connor, as though asking for him to step in. Wisely, Connor said nothing and remained impassive.

"So," Maggie continued, "what can you tell me about that charge?"

"It was a long time ago. I paid my fine."

"You paid your fine?" she asked.

"Yes."

She raised an eyebrow and flipped through his file. "I'm sorry, I thought you were Mr. Joseph Preston IV."

"I am."

"It says here that a Mr. Joseph Preston III paid the fine."

"That's my father," he said. "Obviously."

"Ah. So your father paid your fine for your distribution of a Class C banned substance, then. Not you?"

He sighed. "My apologies, office—"

"Detective," she cut him off.

"Detective," he repeated, "yes, well, the fine was paid in full."

"Yes, I see that," she said. "Must be nice to have a father who can come in and pay off a fine of a quarter-million dalers."

"Is that a question?"

"No," she said, "my question surrounding this is did you really learn your lesson if your father had to come in and clean up your mess?"

"Just what are you insinuating?" he asked.

She spread her hands out as if to say she didn't know. "You tell me, Mr. Preston. You're still involved in athletics, is that correct?"

"Yes," he said, "I work with some Olympic hopefuls."

"In which sport?"

"Swimming," he said. "I swam competitively until I injured my back."

She nodded. "And so now you coach?"

"I'm an assistant coach," he said.

"Who would hire you after your, uh, complications, shall we say, from three gers ago?"

"Someone who believes that people can make mistakes, and it's not indicative of their character," he retorted.

"Right, right, a Mr. Dale Amos, correct?"

"That's right."

"So Mr. Amos is aware of your prior involvement with Class C substances?"

"Yes."

"Was he complicit in those activities?"

"Absolutely not, I didn't even know him back then."

Maggie nodded. "Tell me, Mr. Preston, do you know what D17 is?"

"What what is?"

"D17," she said.

"Never heard of it," he said, and, oddly, Maggie believed him.

Connor slid his business card across the table to Preston. "If you do hear anything about it, Mr. Preston, would you be so kind as to contact us?"

He picked up the card and nodded. "Of course," he said. He looked up at Maggie. "I, uh…" He stopped.

"What is it, Mr. Preston?"

"Look, I have no idea what D17 is, but there are rumblings about something new out there."

"What do you know?" she asked.

"Not much. Just that there's something out there that's almost impossible to trace and even more difficult to make, but that if you can afford it, someone would be very satisfied with the results."

She raised an eyebrow. "And can you let me know who told you that?" she asked.

He shrugged. "It's just around. It's not a specific person," he said.

She nodded. "Well, Mr. Preston, as my colleague here, Agent Wilson, was saying, please do keep in touch if there's anything you think might be of interest to us."

"Of course, Detective."

"Thanks for your time, Mr. Preston," she said. "You're free to go."

"Thank you," he said. He stood up and adjusted his jacket and walked out of the room.

"What do you think?" she asked Connor.

"I don't think he's involved," he said, "but it's a small community. He knows of it."

"Same," she said. She exhaled. "These interviews are going to take forever."

 

***

 

It was Friday afternoon, and they'd been working hard to track down leads since the failed surveillance on Monday. So far, they had set aside a few people after interviewing them who might be somewhat interesting, but there was nothing concrete. The trials started on Monday, so their backup plan was to watch the performances and take a look at any odd outliers.

Maggie downed the last of her almost-cold coffee with a grimace. It was ura 15 in the afternoon and she was generally exhausted from a long week. She picked up the file for the next interview and read the name.

DANVERS, ALEXANDRA

She nodded to herself, remembering the reason she'd flagged the woman's file. She tucked the file under her arm, and walked into the interview room alone, as Eve and Connor were in other interviews.

"Detective Maggie Sawyer, NCPD," she said, coming around the table to face the woman. She looked up and saw a slender, athletic woman in her late 20s, with short-cropped, reddish-brown hair. She was wearing a dark blue track suit with red arms and a patch over the left side with the Olympic logo. "And you are…" She made a show of looking through the file as she sat down. "Ms. Alexandra Danvers, correct?"

"Actually," she said, annoyed, "that's _Doctor_ Alex Danvers. I have a—"

"A medical degree," Maggie said, tapping the file. "That's right, that's right," she said, finding it interesting that Danvers corrected her on the form of address despite not being a practicing doctor. "I see that here in your file." She looked up from the paperwork at the woman

She was sitting back in the chair, her head tilted down, frowning, with her arms folded across her chest. Everything about her demeanour gave the impression that she wasn't at all interested in being there. Except for her eyes.  They were sharp. While her head was tilted down, her eyes roved everywhere, watching, soaking in the details of the environment. Maggie kept the smile off her face. This woman was observant, probably extremely intelligent, not to mention attractive. In other circumstances, Maggie would have certainly asked her out. She sensed that the athlete would be a great sparring partner, both physically as well as intellectually.

"So, Doc," she said, trying to get herself back on track, "can I call you Doc?"

Her eyes flicked up. "I'd rather not."

"Alex, then?"

"A little informal, considering the circumstances, don't you think?"

Maggie quirked a smile. "Danvers?"

"I guess that works."

"So, Danvers," she said, "how long have you been an Olympic athlete?"

That got her attention. Danvers sat up a bit straighter. "Since I was 16 gers."

Maggie nodded, impressed. It was in her file, of course, but she always enjoyed watching people confirm facts. How they reacted to the facts often told her more about them than the facts themselves. For example, that Danvers had been an Olympian three times prior to this forthcoming Olympics was obviously impressive. She clearly took pride in the title of Olympian.

"And how many medals have you won?"

"Three," she said. "Bronze in the 100m dash in 2012, silver in the 100m in 2016 and bronze in the 4x100m relay, also in 2016."

She nodded, also knowing that, but noticing a brief flash of emotion on Danvers' face. "Ah, a runner," she said. "A woman after my own heart," she smiled.

"Pardon?" Danvers asked.

She shrugged. "I enjoy running."

"It's a little different when you're running in the Olympics," the other woman said, practically scoffing at the idea that anything about how the two of them ran was at all similar.

"I bet," she said. "Must be rough to come in second," she continued. "How close was first?"

Danvers' demeanour changed. "I missed first place in the 100m dash by 0.09 secundi, losing to a teammate."

Maggie whistled. "That's tough."

"You have no idea," she muttered. She cleared her throat and sat up, resting her forearms on the table. "Look, Detective, with all due respect, this is interfering with my training," she said. "With the trials next week, I need to be out on the track or in the gym. So can we get down to it?"

"Down to what?" Maggie asked, curious to see what Danvers would say.

"Clearly, you and the DEA think I'm either in possession of a banned substance or I'm someone who's investigating the possibility of getting something to give me an edge."

Maggie nodded. "I did think your situation in particular was interesting. It's not often you see a medical doctor turn into a professional athlete."

"That's not even the interesting part," Danvers offered. "I was partway through my PhD in biochemistry when I decided to leave the lab behind for good and focus on my running."

"A medical degree _and_ a PhD? Doctor Doctor Danvers?" she joked.

"I only got the one," she corrected. "I understand why I might be flagged in your investigation," she said. "But for the exact same reasons you've flagged me, you should unflag me."

"Oh? And what are the reasons we've flagged you, as you understand it?"

"It's obvious. I'm a doctor. That alone gives me knowledge about things others don't have and potential access to them. Also, I'm twenty-eight. This could be my last Olympics. You've clearly pulled me in for a chat because my background and my age would make me a perfect candidate for using a banned substance, right?"

Maggie was impressed. "That might be what we were thinking."

"Well, both of those reasons are, quite frankly, ridiculous. First," she said, extending her right index finger, "yes, I'm a doctor. I know what steroids and other performance-enhancing drugs can do to the body. If you think anyone who's done as much biochem as I have would ever put any garbage like that into their body, then, Detective, with all due respect, you're fucking crazy. I don't even drink when I'm in training."

Maggie raised her eyebrows. "Go on."

"Second," she said, ticking off another finger, "I know there are types of people out there who just want to win and don't care how they do it. Then there are those of us who want to push themselves to the limit and do their country proud. Beating others is just the icing on the cake."

"So you're part of the latter group?"

Danvers nodded. "Running is mostly a solitary sport. Sure, there's the relay, but for the dash? You're running the same part of the same track to get those extra hundredths of a secundo faster. It's you against you. Every day. It doesn't matter as much that there are seven other people on the track with you on race day," she said. "But then, you know about competing against yourself, since you say you enjoy running."

Maggie grinned. "I do, though I'm more about running a 5k and such," she said, "rather than trying to break 10 secundi in the hundred meter."

She snorted. "No one's going to beat FloJo's record."

"No? Not even if they had some help?"

Danvers remained quiet.

"Do you know of anything that might give someone that kind of boost?"

"Nothing that would bring a woman below 10.49, much less under ten secundi," she shook her head.

"Have you ever heard of D17?"

"No," Danvers responded. "What is it?"

"It's a performance-enhancer," she said, "but with a twist. The rumour is that it contains alien blood."

Danvers raised both of her eyebrows and Maggie could tell she had the athlete's full attention. "Alien blood?"

Maggie nodded.

"For what purpose?"

She shrugged. "You're the doctor, Danvers, so you tell me." She leaned forward on the table a bit. "If you were messing around with this stuff, what would you be looking for if you're trying to improve epoetin?"

Danvers shifted, her elbows on the table, steepling her long, delicate fingers in front of her face. "Epoetin increases oxygen flow by producing more red blood cells. The most common side effects are things like high blood pressure and nausea or vomiting, but the more dangerous ones are to do with cardiac and circulatory issues: blood clots, heart attacks, strokes."

"So," Maggie said, interestedly, "you'd want something to even that out."

"You'd want something that acts like a blood thinner, for sure," she said, "but that can cause hemophilia."

"That's to do with intense blood loss, right?" Maggie asked, recognizing the word but not being certain she knew the full meaning.

"Yeah, the lack of ability to clot in the event of a cut or other damage." She lowered her arms, clasping her hands and resting them on the table. "I don't know if I can express just how difficult balancing that would be."

Maggie considered. "Is that something you'd be able to do?"

Danvers stiffened and folded her arms back across her chest. "Is that an accusation?"

"No," she said, honestly. "It's a real question. Is that something you could do? With your medical knowledge and biochemistry experience?"

Visibly relaxing, she lowered her arms and shook her head. "Way beyond my capabilities."

"So we're looking for a career scientist, then."

"Probably." She considered. "Researcher, scientist, even a teacher, but someone with a lot of ure in the lab."

Maggie nodded. "And who would be interested in this kind of performance boost?"

Danvers considered. "The people who are out to win at all costs. The people who don't care about the sport and sportsmanship." She drummed the fingers of her right hand on the table. "Maybe someone who's newer to their sport, who doesn't respect the work and pain that need to be put in."

"And what kind of sport?"

"Endurance, mostly. Long-distance running, as opposed to sprinting, or maybe swimming. Marathon, biathlon, triathlon, all of those would be good candidates."

"And that would be just, what, a coincidence that you wouldn't be lumped into that group of people?" She said it in a light tone, but the reminder was clear: Alex Danvers was being questioned in a joint DEA and NCPD investigation.

Danvers narrowed her eyes. "Either you suspect me or you don't. Which is it?"

"I'm inclined to trust you, Danvers, I am," she said.

"But?"

Danvers was no slouch, as Maggie had suspected. "But the fact remains that you were less than a tenth of a secundi away from gold four gers ago and this could be your last Olympics. Your last chance to get gold."

The woman across from her went stone-faced. "Yes, thank you for pointing out to me that I'm getting older, Detective," she said in a calm voice that belied the anger flashing in her eyes. "I suppose I have my answer. Are we done?"

She pulled out a card and scribbled her teledevice number and her home address on the back before sliding it over to Danvers. "Can I trust you to contact me if you have any information you think would be interesting to me? Anytime, night or day."

She looked at it and flipped it over. "I suppose," she said, sliding it into the inner pocket of her track jacket. " _Now_ are we done?" she asked again, eyes locked on Maggie's.

"Yes, we're done," Maggie said, with a sigh. "Thank you for your time, Danvers."

"Detective," she nodded as she stood and pushed the chair back, its legs scraping across the floor. She turned and let herself out and Maggie frowned, unhappy with how that entire exchange had turned out.

 

***

 

"The investigation has been botched since the beginning, Harrison," Maggie complained, as they cruised to the National City Athletic Complex.

"Look, my source got the container number wrong. It could happen to anyone."

"But it didn't. It happened to him. To us." She shook her head. "I don't much like the idea of having to watch the athletes' performances for outliers, especially these newbies who don't have a lot of prior data."

"You have a better idea?"

She sighed. There were no better ideas. They'd finished their interviews and it would take time for Harrison's team to dig through the backgrounds and such for the coaches and athletes they'd flagged. This was truly the only remotely productive thing they could do. "No," she muttered.

"Exactly." He took a left. "What's first up?"

Maggie consulted her schedule. "We have men and women's hammer throws and pole vaults at ura 9 on the track, while we have freestyle swimming for men. Then at ura 10 and 30 arcs, we have freestyle swimming for women, plus a variety of track running for men and women. Break at midday until 30 arcs past ura 13, then more track and field events, mostly."

"Any preferences?" he asked.

"You want to do swimming and I'll do track and field for the morning?"

"Sounds good," he said.

By the time it was past ura ten, Maggie was certain there was nothing more ridiculous than someone charging down a path, carrying an enormous pole, and flinging themselves over a barrier. It was interesting to watch, at first. Seeing talented people do something they were good at doing was usually interesting, but Maggie couldn't help but feel she was wasting her time. She strongly suspected that only long-distance runners or swimmers were going to be tempted to use D17, thanks to her talk with Danvers. It was true that the Olympian's suggestions did point away from her, but Maggie had done her research over the weekend. Epoetin really was mostly used by long-distance, endurance runners, so it was likely that D17 would be used by the same audience. That is, of course, unless the alien blood could do something to make it worth using by non-endurance athletes. They still weren't sure about that and more tests would need to be conducted.

She watched one more vaulter sprint madly to the barrier and fling herself up and over the bar. The woman was the last one on her list, so Maggie checked it off. There had been two vaulters who had made a lot of progress since their last competition, but that would be something to investigate later. In the meantime, the running was about to get underway. She looked at her sheet. Of course it would start with the 100m dash. She sighed and flipped through her schedule looking for Danvers. She was scheduled to run in the final of four heats. Maggie got up from her seat in the stands and moved to a seat that would better allow her to observe the running.

It was after the second heat that Maggie saw her. Danvers wandered out of the athlete's area and was dressed in the same 2016 US Olympic track suit she had worn at the DEA office on Friday. She was stretching her quads on the sidelines and did some other exercises to limber up. Maggie kept watching her, rather than the runners, though she kept an eye on the times to see if there was anything even remotely close to the world record. Most times were hovering between 10.8 and 11.1 secundi. It was truly astonishing to Maggie that it was literally tenths of a secundo that determined winners in a race such as this one.

She looked over towards Danvers, who had stripped down to her racing kit; a tight blue top that left her midriff bare and very tight, short black shorts, showing off the woman's toned, muscular legs. Maggie forced herself to look away. She was attracted to Danvers and she'd known that the moment they'd first met, but seeing her in such a revealing outfit… It made it difficult for Maggie to focus.

Danvers' heat came up shortly thereafter and Maggie was transfixed as she watched Danvers shake out her legs and approach the blocks. Carefully, she lowered herself into the starting stance and placed her hands just behind the starting line. Maggie could see the focus and determination on Danvers' face as she looked up, staring straight down the track, at her goal.

The gun fired and the eight women took off. It was clear to Maggie from the fifth step that Danvers would win. And not just win, but win by a lot. She watched in awe as Danvers flew over the line, slowing only once she'd crossed the finish, her breaths erratic. Maggie glanced at the times. 10.74 secundi for Alex Danvers. She checked her notes. It was on par, or thereabouts, with her silver medal performance in 2016 and just a touch faster than her world championship times over the last couple of gers.

"Detective!"

Maggie looked up from her papers.

Danvers stood in front of the stands, a towel around her neck and a water bottle in hand. "Fancy meeting you here. I didn't take you for a track fan," she smirked.

"Danvers," she nodded. "Nice performance."

She shrugged. "Thanks. I should be able to snag a spot pretty easily, based on these times, but I still need to go through the official first round, then the semis, then the finals." She took a long drink of her water. "So what are you doing here?"

"Research," Maggie answered. "Mostly by keeping an eye on scores and times, that kind of stuff."

Danvers nodded and then looked out at the field before back up at Maggie. "Theoretically," she said, "if someone had asked someone else if they were in need of some help, then, uh, what might someone theoretically do?"

Maggie kept her face impassive. "That would depend on what kind of help and who was asked."

"Hypothetically speaking, I was asked."

"Interesting," she said, not even looking at Danvers. "And what did you say, in theory?"

"I would have said that I might be interested. Theoretically. Even though I never would be."

"When you're done today, contact the number on the back of the card I gave you," Maggie said, standing.

"Will do," she said, then jogged off to chat with some fellow runners.

Maggie pulled out her teledevice and texted Harrison. "I have a lead," she said.

 

***

 

It was around ura 15 in the afternoon when Maggie's teledevice rang, an unfamiliar number showing up.

She answered anyway. "Sawyer."

"Detective."

"Danvers," she said, nodding, prodding Harrison and pointing at the device. They were still at the track, still keeping an eye on people's numbers. Harrison took over for Maggie as she stood and walked up the stairs to the top of the stands for some privacy. "You called."

"I did," she confirmed. "Do, uh…" She sounded a bit nervous. "Do we do this over our devices?"

Maggie shook her head. "No, we shouldn't," she said. "Now that they've made contact, you may be under surveillance."

"Seriously?"

"It depends on how sophisticated their operation is."

"So what do you suggest here?"

She'd been thinking about it. "Well, we can't be seen together, so public places are out, including the track. You can't very well walk into a police station or a federal building."

"Well, where does that leave us?"

"How do you like your pizza?"

"Whole wheat crust, cheese and veggies for toppings," she answered. "Why?"

"Give me your address. I'll be there at ura 18, with some pizza, and we can talk."

"Seriously?"

"You have any better ideas?"

She sighed. "Fine. See you at ura 18. I'll send you my address."

Maggie arrived promptly, pizza in hand, and knocked on the door for apartment 401.

Danvers opened the door. "Detective," she greeted, stepping back and letting Maggie in.

"Danvers," she nodded, taking a few steps inside. She looked around as Danvers closed the door behind her. It was a large studio apartment, with a decently sized kitchen on one end, the sleeping area on a raised platform at the other end and some space in between for a small dining table and chairs, plus a couch, fireplace and television. It was mostly greys, with some blues. There were some abstract art pieces on the walls, as well as some trophies and medals in a glass display, tucked away. It told Maggie that Danvers was proud of her achievements, but not overly egotistical, as they didn't take center stage in the athlete's home.

She handed the pizza box to Danvers, who placed it on the table, which was already set for two.

"I, uh, probably should have warned you," Danvers said, "I'm only drinking water, sports drinks and protein shakes these days, so I don't have any alcohol or soda."

"Water's fine," Maggie said, taking off her jacket and draping it over a chair at the table before sitting down. She waited for Danvers to come to the table with two big glasses of water before opening the pizza box and serving Danvers and herself each a slice.

"So, Detective," Danvers began, "why here?"

"Because if they're watching you, and I agree that it's not certain they are, they're going to want to know who you're visiting. Whereas if I show up, someone they don't know, I could be visiting anyone in this building. And," she added, "even if it's you I'm visiting, we're just two friends, having dinner."

Danvers took a bite of pizza and nodded. "Makes sense," she said, around her mouthful. "This is good. You're sure this is whole wheat?"

She nodded.

Danvers swallowed. "I don't normally eat a lot of pizza, particularly while training, but I did a couple of runs today, so I'm letting myself."

"Right, the dash this morning and the 4x100 this afternoon, right?" Harrison had watched those races.

"Yeah. Practicing that with the girls is tough work, then doing the heat to make sure we get to the actual qualifiers is no joke."

"You're the anchor?"

"Yeah, generally. I'm pretty good at making up time, and the last leg is on the straightaway, so it's basically doing the dash with a bit of a head start."

They ate quietly for a few arcs.

"So," Maggie said, "do you want to tell me about what happened today?"

She chewed pensively. "I'm worried that if I do, this whole thing is going to interfere with my training." She swallowed. "I really want to go to Tokyo for these games, Detective."

"I understand, Danvers," she replied, "but think about it. If they've approached you, who else have they approached? Why you? You run short distances. Does this mean the substance isn't just good for endurance athletes? More importantly, does this mean that others in your races have been offered the same kind of help? Imagine you're the only person in all the races who hasn't decided that yes, you should take something. Then you don't move on."

"I refuse to believe that a majority of my competitors would cheat like that," she said, stubbornly.

"You blew them away in the heat today. Maybe they think they need the help. Clearly, they do, if you're their competition."

"Fine." She took another bite, clearly frustrated. "It was an assistant coach I've known for a while. He's not my coach, but we knew each other back when I was a kid, at the 2008 Games. He was a sprinter and helped me learn the ropes of international competition."

Maggie nodded, chewing her pizza, waiting for Danvers to continue.

"So he comes up to me today and says that he has something that is untraceable and if I take it for a week, I can shave a half-secundo off my best time. A month would mean seven or eight tenths of a secundo."

She frowned. "That would bring you below…"

"Under FloJo's 10.49." She took a drink of water. "And even under ten secundi, if the claims are to be believed."

Maggie whistled. "What a way to end your career. Gold medal, for sure, and shattering the current Olympic record. You'd go down in history."

"It's almost tempting," Danvers agreed. "Except that I'd know that I'd cheated. I'd know that it wasn't me that did it. A gold medal that would be meaningless and a record that would be unbreakable, forever a fraud in the books."

"But you told him you might be interested. Why?"

Danvers gave her a look. "Gee, I don't know, Detective, let me think…"

"So you told him you might be interested in order to get more information for my investigation."

"I did."

"Would you be willing to wear a wire?"

She blew out a breath. "I don't have much of a choice here, do I?"

"Of course you do," she said. "You can decline to help any further and just give us the names of people involved and we'll get surveillance warrants, then search warrants, then arrest warrants, then we're looking at a trial…"

"… and by then, the deals will be done and athletes will have the drug," she sighed. "I get it." She took another breath. "Fine. I'll wear a wire and contact him and set up a meeting. What then?"

"When's your next event?"

"Saturday. It's the qualifying races for the dash."

"Let's aim for Wednesday, then. I can stop by here before you head out and wire you up."

Danvers nodded. "That works. Should I schedule it now? Here?"

She shook her head. "California is a two-party consent state."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I shouldn't listen in on anything without his permission too, and you can't record anything without his consent. I could do it with just your permission, but I want this done by the book and the best way to do it is with a warrant. I'll get the paperwork started tonight and we should be in the clear by Wednesday morning."

"Sounds good. Is there anything else I need to do?"

"I do kind of need his name and an official statement from you," Maggie said.

"What, now?"

"If that's okay."

"Yeah, I guess."

Maggie nodded and pulled out her teledevice and set up the recording app. "Detective Maggie Sawyer with Dr. Alex Danvers, June 22, 2020, ura 18 and 34 arcs. Dr. Danvers is providing a statement about a conversation she had earlier today regarding the possibility of taking performance-enhancers." She looked up at Danvers. "Now then, Dr. Danvers, would you please tell me what happened earlier today?"

She nodded. "Sure. Uh, I was getting ready in the locker room for my heat for the dash, the, uh, the 100 meter dash. I came out of the women's locker room in my track suit, with my towel and water bottle in hand, when an old friend, or, well, I guess acquaintance, really, stopped me in the hallway on my way out to the track." She swallowed. "His name, uh, is Peter Nicolson, and he was an Olympic athlete that I met often throughout the lead-up to the 2008 Olympic Games. I was 16 gers and he was 34 but it was his third Olympics and he was nice enough to show me the ropes."

"What did your parents think of him?"

Alex went quiet for a moment. "My mom was appreciative. She was busy with work and with me."

"And your father?"

"My father died a ger before my first Olympics," she said, quietly.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Danvers," Maggie said, aware that they were being recorded.

She pressed on. "So yeah, my mom and I were friendly with him. Pete and I saw a lot of each other up through the Games at various track meets, but I didn't see much of him after the Games, where neither of us won a medal."

"What was the nature of the conversation you had with him today?"

Danvers blew out a breath. "He came up to me, asked me how I was, then asked me if I was planning to continue running for the 2024 Olympics."

"And what did you say?"

"I said I wasn't sure, because, frankly, I'm not."

"What did he say to that?"

"He told me that he remembered being where I was, twelve gers ago. He remembered his last Games. He remembered how much it sucked to not get to win again, telling me it was an embarrassment to walk away with nothing." She paused. "And then he said that he could help me out to make sure that, if it was my last Games, I'd be remembered."

"I see. Did he indicate how he could help?"

She took a breath. "He told me that he had something that was untraceable and would knock a full half-secundo off my time within a week of starting to take it and up to seven or eight tenths of a secundo after a month."

"With your knowledge, both as a medical doctor and a career athlete, are you aware of anything that could do as Mr. Nicolson claimed?"

"No, I know of no substances that would be able to deliver on those claims."

"Thank you, Dr. Danvers." She ended the recording and nodded. "This should be enough to get a warrant for the wire." She tucked her device away. "You'll want to set up things tonight or tomorrow and let me know when and where the meet is. I'll come here, wire you up and we'll be nearby in some nondescript hovervan."

"Really? Some van?" Danvers was clearly unimpressed.

Maggie rolled her eyes and raised her hands in mock-surrender. "It's not me, it's the feds. It's like they all watch the same bad movies at Quantico or something."

"Probably," Danvers chuckled.

Maggie enjoyed the sound of the other woman's laughter and knew she was in trouble. "Okay, so, uh, I should go, I guess."

"Yeah, probably. I have to, you know, plan a covert meeting."

This time, it was Maggie who chuckled. "Thank you," she said, sincerely. "I know this has the potential to mess up your training." She looked into Danvers' eyes. "I promise you we'll do whatever we can to make sure you're at your events."

"You had damn well better," she replied, holding her gaze.

"I promise, Danvers," she repeated, extending her hand.

Danvers glanced down before looking back up. She took Maggie's hand in her own and they shook on it. Maggie gazed into Danvers' brown eyes as they shook hands for a beat too long. "Right, okay, I have to do paperwork for the warrant."

"And I have a call to make."

She stood and grabbed her jacket, slipping it on. "Call or text me whenever," she said, gently. "If you need to talk."

"Thanks, but I'll probably pass," she said, standing up as well. "I appreciate the offer, though."

"Oh, yeah, you, uh, probably have a partner or someone you can talk to or whatever."

Danvers folded her arms across her chest. "As it happens, I don't have a girlfriend, presently. I'm single."

 _Oh, man. I_ _'m definitely in trouble,_ Maggie thought to herself. "Or friends. Family."

"Or maybe I'm just not a chatty kind of person, Detective."

"Maggie." Her first name unexpectedly tumbled out of her mouth.

"Hm?"

"You can call me Maggie. Or not. Whatever," she said, far too rapidly, in that slightly higher pitch of her voice that she seemed to use when she was a bit nervous.

"All right, Maggie," Danvers smiled. "I guess you can call me Alex. Or whatever," she grinned.

"Alex."

"Maggie."

She nodded. "Have a good night, Alex. Keep me posted."

"Will do," she said, and walked her over to the door, unlocking it before opening it to let her out.

Maggie was halfway to the elevator when she heard her name.

"Maggie!"

She turned to see Danvers — Alex — standing in her doorway.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," she said.

"For?" she asked, confused.

"The pizza," she smiled.

"My pleasure," Maggie replied, smiling back. She watched Alex close the door and hit the button on the elevator. _I am in big trouble,_ she thought to herself as she waited impatiently for the elevator to arrive.

 

***

 

She was back at the apartment building far too early on Wednesday. It was barely ura six and Alex was due to meet Nicolson at ura seven at the athletic complex. Maggie had the wire equipment in her bag and Harrison and the rest of his team were aware of what was supposed to go on. Maggie had gotten her surveillance warrant signed and everything, so all was a go.

She knocked on Alex's door.

"Good morning, Detective," she greeted, opening the door.

"Maggie."

"Right," Alex said, "Maggie." She stepped back. "Come on in."

"Thanks," she said, walking across the threshold, carrying a tray with two coffees. "I brought coffee."

"You know, Detective, I mean, Maggie, I could get used to you showing up at my place with food."

She knew Alex didn't mean it _that_ way, but she couldn't stop herself from smiling. "Here," she said, pulling one of the coffees out of the tray. "I figure you take it black."

"Good guess," she said, taking the coffee, her fingers brushing against Maggie's. "How'd you know?"

"I'm a detective, Danvers. I detect," she answered, deadpan, before flashing a grin.

"Har, har." Alex grinned back and sipped at the coffee.

Maggie, meanwhile, was unpacking her bag. Microphone, wire, battery pack, antenna and plenty of medical tape. She nodded and turned to Alex, who had her track suit on.

"Okay, I'm going to need you to take off the jacket part of your track outfit."

Alex nodded and unzipped it all the way, easily shrugging out of it. She was wearing her track kit beneath it.

"Uh," she cleared her throat, "you don't have anything baggier, do you?"

"You want me to go to the track and run in baggy clothes?" Alex gave her a look.

"Okay, okay," she said. "We'll just have to use your track suit as camouflage." She looked at Alex's chest. "You, uh, wearing a bra under that?"

"Are you always so forward?" Alex asked with a grin.

She looked back up. "Sorry, I… just… the wire, you know?"

"I know," she said. "And yes."

"Could you, uh, maybe take off the top, then? Please?"

Alex smirked at the request and took a step back, peeling off the tight top to reveal an even tighter sports bra.

Maggie picked up the microphone and the tape, determined to focus on the task at hand. She stepped into the woman's personal space and carefully placed the microphone against Alex's breastbone, securing it with a strip of medical tape. She stepped back and looked at it critically. "How's that feel?" she asked.

"Fine?"

"Can you put your top back on?"

Alex reached over to the counter and pulled the top back on.

Maggie frowned. There was definitely a bump where the microphone was hidden. She looked up at Alex. "You're going to have to wear your jacket zipped up right to that point, but no higher, or we're not going to be able to hear anything."

She nodded.

"Okay, now the tricky part… Turn around, please."

Alex did so and Maggie tried not to stare at the curves of the other woman's waist and hips. She picked up the battery pack and clipped it to the inside of the track pants, so the pack itself was between Alex's shorts and the pants. The clip extended out over the waistband, but the jacket should cover it, Maggie reasoned. For good measure, she added a couple of strips of tape to secure it.

"Okay, turn back and put your jacket on."

Alex complied and Maggie inspected the lump where the microphone was. It wasn't at all noticeable. She indicated that Alex should turn and nodded. The battery pack was hidden well enough by the bulk of the jacket. "Good, good, I think that works," she said. "Now to connect the wires. Jacket off, please."

"On, off, on, off," chuckled Alex. "Make up your mind, already."

"Off," she said, grinning. "Definitely."

Alex raised an eyebrow at that and Maggie ignored it entirely, moving behind Alex to connect the wire and mini-antenna to the battery pack. She twisted the small antenna into place, which would have a broadcast range of about 500 yards or so. Then she connected the wire and began to carefully tape it around the curve of Alex's stomach. Fingers trembling slightly, Maggie made her way up to the bottom of Alex's track top and then paused. She stepped back.

"What?"

"Uh, you might want to do the, uh, final connection," Maggie said, gesturing broadly at Alex's chest.

The sprinter chuckled. "What's the matter? Scared?"

"Scared is not the word I'd use, no."

"Uh huh," Alex murmured, as she began to fiddle with the wire. "I think you're scared of accidentally brushing up against another woman's breasts."

Maggie's eyebrows leapt up. "I'm sorry?"

Alex missed Maggie's reaction entirely, still working on the wire. "Oh, you know, just that you straight people can be so weird about even the hint of behaviour that could be labelled as gay."

"Now hang on an arc."

Alex looked up. "Oh, come on, every straight girl I've ever known has panicked at some point about the possibility that I think she's hot."

"No, wait," Maggie said, "you think I'm _straight_?"

"… you're not?"

"Wow, Danvers, I didn't realize your gaydar was that bad," she laughed.

Alex flushed. "How the hell was I supposed to know?"

"Oh, gee, the leather jacket? The sensible shoes? The fact that I'm a cop?" she teased.

"You have long hair! You wear makeup! You wear skinny jeans!" she countered.

"What, being gay means I can't look conventionally pretty? Must I absolutely reject _all_ socially constructed gender roles for women?" she laughed.

Alex blew out a breath. "No," she admitted. "You have my apologies for making assumptions, Detective." She paused. "Maggie."

She smiled. "So no, I'm not scared. I'm just being respectful."

Alex finished connecting the wire from the battery pack to the wire from the microphone. "Well, then, I appreciate it." She nodded. "Thanks."

She nodded back. "Okay, so jacket on, and don't zip it beyond the microphone."

"Right, got it," she said.

"We'll be parked just outside the complex, so we should be able to get everything. Of course, should anything go wrong, we'll be there."

"Okay."

"So he really said the first vial was free?"

Alex laughed. "He did. He said it was a favour."

"Well, let us know as soon as it's safe and we'll get the wire off you and start running tests on the sample."

She nodded. "Okay. I think we're good."

Maggie agreed. "See you soon," she said, as she opened the door. She paused for a moment and looked back at Alex. "Seriously? I came off as _straight_?" she laughed.

"Oh, you hush."

 

***

 

In the back of the van with Harrison and Eve and Connor, Maggie was fiddling nervously with the wire for the headphones. It was just before ura seven and they'd seen Alex walk into the complex. They could hear the activity around Alex, the rustle of her clothing, even her breaths, which had gotten more rapid as she'd entered the complex.

Maggie took out her teledevice and texted her.

"Calm down. Deep breaths."

Through her headphones, she heard the buzz of the teledevice and the crinkling of the track suit fabric as Alex pulled her own device out.

"Trying," came her response, and Maggie could hear her breath slow as she forced herself to calm down. She heard another sound indicating movement, guessing the device was being placed back in her pocket.

"I wish we had video," she murmured to Harrison.

"Why didn't you suggest it?" he asked. "We might have been able to pull that off."

"The wire's stressful enough," she said. "Imagine making her carry a camera in her duffel, too? The positioning, the angles…" She shook her head. "This should do."

They sat quietly for a few arcs and then heard a lot of movement as Alex presumably moved to meet up with Nicolson. It sounded like she was jogging.

"Hey," she said.

"Alex," he responded. "Good to see you."

"Same here, Pete," she said.

Maggie could hear Alex's heart pounding through the microphone.

"I'm glad you're taking me up on my offer," he said. "I'd sure hate for your last Games to be like mine, kiddo."

"You know I'm 28, right? Not 16 anymore?" she chuckled.

"Alex, you'll always be a kid to me." He said it endearingly. "Like a kid sister. Which is why I'm doing you this favour."

"Right," she said. "So, uh, define untraceable."

"Of course, I understand you're probably nervous. I promise, there's nothing to worry about," he said, reassuringly.

"How is that even possible?"

"You ask a lot of questions for someone who could set a new record and win gold."

"I ask a lot of questions for someone who could get banned for life and go to prison instead of competing in what is possibly her last Olympics," she shot back. Maggie couldn't help but smile at Alex's guts.

There was movement and then a different kind of rustling. When Nicolson began to speak again, it was muffled.

"Shit," Maggie swore, "I think the microphone is loose."

"Any chance he'll see it?" Harrison asked. "Is she blown?"

Maggie thought about it. "It's _probably_ floating around in her bra."

He gave her an interested look. "Oh?"

"Shut up, Harrison," she muttered, smacking his arm.

The rest of the conversation was absolutely unintelligible. They could tell when Nicolson or Alex were speaking, but that was it. Based on this conversation, it was unlikely they could get an arrest warrant.

After no more than five arcs, there was a lot of rustling. "It's done," whispered Alex.

That was Maggie's cue to go into the complex and retrieve the equipment as well as the sample while Alex got her training in. She'd swapped her regular leather jacket and skinny jeans for athletic wear, to better fit in. She shouldered her duffel and headed into the complex to the predetermined spot in the ladies' locker room.

She found Alex sitting on a physiotherapy table, away from the main locker room or shower area. It was fairly secluded and they'd be able to go mostly unnoticed. The athlete looked worried as she saw Maggie approach.

"Hey, don't worry," she said, reassuringly. "We'll make it work."

"I'm sorry," Alex said.

"Not your fault. The tape didn't hold?"

She shook her head. "Pretty sure it's because I was nervous as hell and sweating buckets." She made a face.

"It's fine, Alex, we're all human," she smiled kindly. She stepped around to the back of the physio table and dropped her duffel bag by her feet. "Lower back giving you trouble?" she asked, a little more loudly.

"Uh, yeah."

"Let's have a look," Maggie said, her hands already on Alex's waist. With Alex facing the rest of the room, her hands were hidden, so she was able to remove the battery pack and place it on the table between them, Alex's body shielding it from the rest of the room. While trying not to think about the soft skin beneath her fingers, she slipped her right hand along Alex's hip and waist, delicately peeling the tape off. She worked her way up to Alex's ribs, all hidden by the track jacket and Alex's body, while her left hand guided Alex's movements to better conceal what her right hand was doing.

She got the last piece of tape off the wire and started to gather the wire in her hand. It got stuck on the sports bra, but she was able to tug it through after a moment's effort. She coiled it up and set it next to the battery pack.

"Where's the sample?" she asked, quietly, her mouth near Alex's ear.

"Right pocket," she whispered.

Carefully, Maggie slipped her hand into Alex's right jacket pocket and found a small vial. She surreptitiously moved it to the pocket of her own hoodie, then moved the equipment into her bag before loudly declaring that Alex should do her training and let her know if there was any more pain in her lower back.

With a smile, Maggie picked up her bag and walked out of the complex. With a quick look around, she determined it was safe and got into the van.

"Here's the sample," she said, handing it to Harrison. "Let's get out of here."

 

***

 

It was D17, Harrison confirmed later that evening, via text.

"You're sure?" she responded.

"Yeah. 27% Dominator blood, 73% epoetin. This amount was for a week or so, which is roughly 10mL a day for seven days. Based on preliminary tests, this could possibly do what Nicolson is claiming."

"Thanks, Harrison," Maggie replied. "You want me to do the paperwork for the warrants?"

"See, Sawyer, this is why I wanted to borrow you. You know me so well."

She rolled her eyes. "Sure, sure. I got it. I'll text you tomorrow."

Maggie spent the next couple of ure filling out paperwork to get a search warrant for Peter Nicolson's home and place of employment. Once done, she picked up her teledevice. It was only just after ura 21. She thumbed through her contacts and decided to call Alex directly.

"Hello?"

"It's Maggie," she said.

"Detective. It's late. Is everything okay?"

"Did I wake you?" she asked.

"No, but another few arcs and you would have. What's up?"

"Sorry," she said. "I, uh, just wanted to let you know that we've confirmed the substance is D17."

She heard Alex blow out a breath. "Damn."

"Damn?"

"It's complicated. I didn't want Pete to be caught up in all of this."

Maggie nodded. "I get it. You've known him a long time."

"And he's not a bad guy," she insisted. "I don't know why he's doing this."

"Well, regardless of why, it was a bad idea," Maggie said. "I should have a search warrant tomorrow that the DEA will execute with the NCPD."

"That soon?"

"Yeah," she said. "And I'm afraid I'm going to need your help again."

"What do you need me to do?"

"I need you to set up a meet with him so we can catch him in the act of giving you a larger supply. The vial you gave me was 70 mL or so. If we can get him with more of the stuff on him, plus anything we find when executing the search warrants, we'll have plenty of evidence."

She sighed. "Yeah. I can do that."

"Great," Maggie said, sensing the disappointment in the other woman. "Set up a meet for Friday morning. That'll give us enough time to get our ducks in a row on our end."

"Sure." She paused. "How much should I be asking for?"

"Ask for two weeks or a month's worth," Maggie said. "I'll make sure you have cash when I come over on Friday to wire you up again."

"Again?"

"Don't worry," she grinned, "I'll make sure to bring the waterproof tape this time."

"Very funny."

Maggie just chuckled. "Okay, so keep me posted on the meet, all right?"

"Will do."

"G'night, Alex."

"Night, Maggie."

 

***

 

She knocked on the door just past ura six in the morning on Friday and didn't even let Alex say hello before she walked in, carrying coffee again.

"Do you just… have something against sleeping in? Or something?" she grumbled, handing Alex her cup of black coffee before starting in on her own.

Alex just laughed. "Early to bed, early to rise and all that."

"You can't be serious."

She shrugged. "I've always woken up early. Even if I'm exhausted, even if I went to bed super late. Even if I don't want to wake up. I'm just… up."

Maggie took another sip from her coffee. "That's too bad, because, let me tell you, sleeping in? It's amazing. I haven't done much of it lately," she lamented. "And I miss it." She put the coffee down. "Ready?"

Alex drank again from her cup before putting it down and shedding her track jacket.

Maybe it was that it was so early in the morning, or maybe it was that Maggie had just plain forgotten, but when she turned around to start wiring up Alex, she paused. Alex was clad in just her sports bra and track pants, her bangs falling lopsidedly over her right eye. The vast expanse of skin, the toned body, the incongruous positioning of her hair… It made Maggie pause for a moment and the only thought that reverberated through her early-morning brain was that she couldn't believe how beautiful Alex was.

"Maggie?" Alex prompted.

"Sorry," she said, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

"See something you like?" the sprinter teased.

"You wish, Danvers," she said, casually, even as she was aware of the quaver in her own voice. She wasn't normally so taken by a beautiful woman, not even one as quick-witted as Alex was. It was unusual for her and it was affecting her work. So she took a deep breath and tried desperately not to think about how she was attaching a microphone to Alex's chest, right between her breasts.

She tried not to care about how soft her skin was, as she attached the battery pack with tape again, adhering it to Alex's lower back.

She _really_ tried to ignore the firm muscles just beneath the skin as she snaked the wire up her abdomen to her ribcage.

She wasn't particularly successful in any of those attempts.

"Uh, okay, you can connect the wires again," she said, backing away. "And, remember, I'm not scared, I'm respectful," she added, quickly.

Alex grinned and pulled the lower wire up into her bra and connected it to the microphone. "Such a gentlewoman."

"Well, I try," she joked. "You can put your top back on, make sure the microphone isn't too obvious." While Alex did just that, Maggie pulled out a wad of cash. "How much did he say for the four weeks?"

"Four grand," she said, pulling on her track jacket and zipping it up just high enough. "This look okay?"

Maggie looked over and nodded. "Good stuff." She counted out the hundred-daler bills and folded them, handing the package to Alex and tucking away another thousand dalers to be returned to the DEA. She turned back to Alex and sipped at her coffee. "You ready?"

"No," she said, making a face.

"Hey," Maggie said, gently. "I know. It's hard. It's hard to believe an old friend, someone who showed you so much kindness, is all tangled up in this."

"It sucks."

"If it makes you feel better, if he cooperates and lets us know about the source of this shit, I'm sure the DEA will take it into consideration."

"Yeah?"

"I'll make sure of it," she promised.

Alex nodded. "Okay. Let's do it."

"Oh, I almost forgot," Maggie said, digging around in her bag again.

"Hm?"

"This." Maggie brandished an impossibly small earpiece. "This is so that you can hear us as we approach and such."

"Oh, that could be useful, yeah," she said, holding out her hand.

Maggie switched it on and dropped it into Alex's hand, but Alex couldn't get it to sit right in her ear.

"Let me," Maggie said. "I'm used to these stupid things."

"Sure." Alex sat on a stool by her counter.

"Hold still," Maggie warned. She carefully oriented the earpiece properly and gently pressed it into Alex's ear, lightly running her fingertip across it to get it in deep enough where it wouldn't fall out or be seen. "There ya go."

"Uh, thanks," she said, softly.

"Sure thing." Maggie picked up her bag. "See you in there."

 

***

 

As they did on Wednesday, Maggie and the DEA team arrived in their white van before Alex arrived. This time, though, the team was wearing bulletproof vests and were all armed. There was an additional team in another van in full SWAT regalia, including vests, body armour, helmets, shields and tasers, plus laser rifles and old-school, bullet-firing sidearms.

Harrison was coordinating things. The meet was set for ura seven and some DEA agents and NCPD officers had just watched Nicolson leave home a few arcs ago. The joint team was now searching his home while another searched the office he'd been using. So far, they'd found a total of more than 20 litres of the stuff across both locations.

The surveillance video showed Alex arriving at the complex and Maggie keyed the microphone. "It's okay. Just relax. We're here. I'm here."

"Thanks," she said, quietly, under her breath, as she entered the complex and they lost visual.

Maggie tightened her vest and, once again, checked that her sidearm was loose in its holster.

And they waited.

A few arcs later, they heard Alex walking more quickly, her breaths coming more rapidly, her heart thumping. "Alex, breathe," Maggie said, hitting the microphone again.

"Morning, Alex," Nicolson said, cheerfully.

"Pete," she answered.

"So you like the results so far?"

"Absolutely. No side effects, either."

"Right, that's one of the bonuses," he said. "The guys who mixed it up fixed that pesky side effect issue you might see with other, uh, options, shall we say…"

They heard the crinkling of Alex's track suit. "So we settled on four, right? For a month?"

"That's right," he said. "I'm sure you know it's well worth it."

"Well, it's only for about six weeks total, so, yeah. Worth it. Here," she said.

"Thanks, Alex. Here you go," he said.

Harrison had witnessed enough. "Team B, circle around the back. Team A, you're good to go as soon as B is in position. We'll come in after you've breached."

Maggie heard a variety of acknowledgements over the main comms channel and keyed the microphone. "Stall, Alex. We're on our way."

They transferred Alex's microphone feed to their headsets and left the van, waiting for Team A to enter the front of the complex.

"You know I ended up going to med school, right?" Alex was saying.

"Yeah, you always were a smart cookie, kiddo."

"So what's in this, exactly? I'm curious."

"I'm not sure. My contact just sells it to me and I pass it along," he said.

Team A moved and Maggie's team followed at a distance. Maggie activated her microphone. "Nearly there, Alex."

"Have you made this offer to any of my competitors?" she asked.

"No one who runs the dash or the relay."

"Good," she said, "I'd hate to come up against someone else with the same advantage."

"Hey, kid, who do you think I am?" he chuckled.

Then pandemonium broke out.

"FEDERAL AGENTS!" cried someone from Team A. "HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!"

Maggie heard movement and a choking noise and then a lot of static. She frowned. She hit her microphone. "Alex? Alex, are you okay?"

Just more static and rustling.

"Alex, acknowledge!"

Still nothing from Alex.

"Harrison, something's wrong," she said.

"Team A, report!"

"We have a hostage situation here, sir," the agent replied.

Maggie felt the blood drain from her face. She pulled out her sidearm and ran ahead, ignoring Harrison's orders. If Team B was covering the back door and Team A was going in the front door, they should be able to sweep the complex. But wasn't there another way out? Maggie wasn't sure, but she thought she'd seen a sign for a fire exit in the ladies' locker room. She circled around the side of the building, sidearm drawn. Nicolson would have the tactical advantage, knowing the building better than the DEA.

She tapped her microphone. "Alex, if you're moving, I need you to make a noise. A cough, anything."

A cough came over her headset.

"He's got you? Cough for yes."

Another cough, followed by an angry order from Nicolson to shut up.

"Harrison, what's happening?" she asked over regular comms.

"He pulled a firearm and grabbed her, told them to stay there or he'd shoot her."

"So they've lost visual?"

"Affirmative. They're sealing off the main doors now," he said.

She took a deep breath and nodded to herself. "I think I know where they're going."

She keyed the microphone one last time. "Alex, you know this building better than I do. Cough if I'm right in remembering an emergency exit near the women's locker room."

Again, there was a cough.

"Dammit, shut the fuck up, kiddo!" Nicolson snarled. He must have had her in a headlock to sound so close. "I don't want to use this. Please, don't make me use this."

"Okay, Alex," Maggie said, trying to project calm in her voice, "I'm going to ask you to cough once more if you guys are headed to that exit."

There was a pause and then a cough.

"Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell is the matter with you?" There was a pause. "Are you fucking wired?!"

_Shit._

There was a loud rustle and then Nicolson‘s voice came through the comms link. "Cooperating with the feds and wearing a wire was a mistake, Alex. And is that an earpiece?" She heard a foot stomping on the floor, presuming that was the earpiece being squashed. And then the microphone abruptly went silent.

She steeled herself. "Harrison, they're going out the emergency exit by the women's locker room. I may need backup."

"Acknowledged, on our way."

She continued to creep along the edge of the building. Not twenty feet from her, a door burst open, followed by a loud alarm.

"NCPD!" she cried, aiming her weapon at him.

"Drop it!" he shouted. "Drop it or I swear to God, I'll shoot her."

"Let her go!" she yelled back.

"DROP IT!"

She hesitated and watched as Nicolson adjusted his gun on Alex's right temple. Time was running out, so she did the only thing she could — she took the shot.

The projectile hit Nicolson in the left shoulder, forcing him to release Alex, who dove to her right, as Nicolson dropped his weapon and clutched his arm. Maggie ran up to him, keeping her weapon on him. "Harrison, I need that backup."

She looked over at Alex, who was gazing at her from the ground, still scared.

"I got you, Alex," she said, gently, before looking back at Nicolson.

 

***

 

Nicolson got bandaged up and was taken into custody by the DEA, while Maggie accompanied Alex home. She'd insisted, despite Alex's protests to the contrary. She knew Alex would almost certainly be in shock after the unpleasant experience with Nicolson and she wasn't about to leave her alone.

Maggie drove them to Alex's in Alex's hoverpod. It was a fairly silent ride over. The elevator ride to Alex's floor was silent as well. It wasn't until they were both inside Alex's apartment, the door shut and locked behind them, that Alex finally let out a tremulous sigh.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Maggie said. "You're safe."

Alex turned to her and pulled her close, clinging to her, as the tears finally began.

Maggie somewhat awkwardly navigated them to the couch and held Alex as she cried, repeating her reassurances, that she was safe, that she had her, that it was okay.

After about fifteen arcs or so, the sobs subsided as Alex finally tired herself out. Still, she clung to Maggie.

"If, uh, you need to talk to someone, that's okay," she said. "I can get the psychologist who comes to the station to come talk to you."

Alex sniffled and shook her head. "No, I'm… I'm okay," she said, taking a deep breath and sitting up. "I'm sorry for, uh, sort of falling apart like that."

"Are you kidding?" Maggie asked, turning to face her. "That was a traumatic event."

Alex shook her head. "I'm an Olympic athlete. We're good at compartmentalizing. Or we should be." She dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. "Thanks for being here for me."

She smiled. "Happy to."

"And, uh, for the other thing."

"What other thing?"

"The whole saving my life thing," Alex said, a bit shyly.

"Oh, that?" Maggie grinned. "Well, you know, you gotta do what you gotta do," she chuckled.

"No, for real," she said, quietly. "Thank you." She looked up at Maggie, holding her gaze.

Maggie nodded, feeling the intensity of the moment. "My pleasure," she responded.

Alex reached out with her right hand and placed it on Maggie's cheek and then leaned in slowly, carefully, and gently pressed her lips to Maggie's.

Part of her had been wondering if this would happen. An even larger part of her had _wanted_ it to happen. She returned the kiss, softly, sweetly and then—

Alex suddenly pulled back. "Shit."

"It's okay," Maggie said, smiling.

"No, no, it's not, shit. I'm sorry."

Maggie frowned.

Alex stood and walked to the door. "I'm sorry. You have to go. I… I can't."

She furrowed her brow as she stood. "I'll go if you want me to, Alex," she said, "but that? That was okay."

"No," Alex said, emphatically. "It wasn't. You need to go."

"Alex."

"Please," she said, all traces of the soft, vulnerable, scared woman gone.

Maggie nodded, still not understanding, but determined to respect her wishes. "See ya ‘round, Danvers," she said, and walked out the door, wondering what the hell had just happened.

 

***

 

Over the next few weeks, she texted and tried to contact Alex a few times, to no avail. The other woman never responded. Maggie kept up on the news, though, so she saw that Alex had indeed made the Olympic team. She would represent the United States in Tokyo.

When the time came, Maggie tuned in, as did most of the world, to watch the various competitions. During the opening ceremonies, she saw Alex smiling and waving to the crowd and her heart leapt.

She looked up the times for her races in the schedule and woke up in the night to watch them live. First, there were the preliminaries for the women's 100m, which Alex qualified for without issue, cruising to victory in her heat.

A day later, it was round one of the event, which consisted of seven separate heats. Maggie quickly learned that to qualify, the runners needed to either finish in the top three of the heat or be one of the top three fastest times. Alex came in second her race.

The semi-finals were the next day, made up of three heats. The top two finishers in each heat, plus the two fastest scores, across all the heats, that weren't top two times would make up the final eight. Alex stumbled out of the blocks and Maggie legitimately gasped, but Alex recovered, finishing second and earning a berth in the finals.

It was past midnight, on what was technically Saturday morning in National City, when the finals for the women's 100m dash were scheduled. Maggie was exhausted — it had been a long week, including her testifying at Peter Nicolson's trial, who still wasn't cooperating, much to her consternation. Still, she was determined to watch Alex's race live.

She was the only American in the final. The woman who had won the gold in 2016 had retired, so all of America's hopes rested on Alex Danvers' shoulders, which also meant the American broadcast was focused on her. Maggie, curled up in a blanket on her couch, watched as Alex performed some last-arc stretches and adjusted her starting blocks, testing them out. Shortly thereafter, both at the track as well as on television, the competitors were introduced. Alex looked steady and focused and Maggie wondered if they'd ever speak again. If nothing else, she'd like to have Alex as a friend, someday.

The officials called out "on your marks", which was the signal for everyone to get into their blocks. Alex was gorgeous. Her hair was shorter than it had been, no doubt to keep those pesky bangs out of her eyes. Her legs rippled with strength as she took her position. Maggie smiled as she saw the familiar determination in Alex's gaze as she seemed to shut out the entire world and focus on one thing and one thing only — the finish line.

"Set," came the announcement and all eight women raised from their knees into the starting position.

The gun went off and all eight women leapt into action.

For ten secundi, it certainly seemed long. At about the six-secundo mark, Alex, who had been in the third spot, seemed to pour it on with a burst of energy. She passed her nearest competitor, a tall, blonde woman from the Netherlands, and seemed to at least pull even with a Jamaican competitor. It was a close finish. Who had won?

Maggie swigged at her beer bottle as she nervously waited for the results. After what seemed like an eternity, they showed the photo finish, declaring the Jamaican competitor had a final time of 10.68 secundi and Alex Danvers had finished with 10.67 secundi. Twelve gers after her first Olympic race, she had won the gold medal, at last.

The enormous smile on Alex's face was infectious and she found herself smiling at the television. Alex draped the American flag proudly over her shoulders and blew a kiss at the camera. Maggie watched with a ridiculous sense of pride during the medal ceremony, just a few arcs later.

A few days later, Maggie watched as the United States won the 4x100m race, too, with Alex making up time and, once again, beating the Dutch. As the only dual gold medalist in the Games for the USA, Alex was also the flag bearer in the closing ceremonies, a few days after that.

Maggie made up her mind. Once Alex was back and rested, she'd visit and see if she wanted to talk.

She didn't get the chance.

It was ura 21 on Saturday, barely a day and a half after the closing of the Games. Maggie was folding her laundry, getting ready for the start of another week, when there was an unexpected knock at the door.

Frowning, she headed to the door, sidearm at the ready, and looked out the peephole. She nearly dropped it in surprise. Quickly, she placed the weapon on the nearby end table and opened the door.

"Danvers?"

"Hi," she said, smiling brilliantly at her.

"Uh, come in."

Alex stepped inside and Maggie shut the door behind her.

"What's going on?" Maggie asked.

Alex was pacing. "I'm sorry," she said.

"For?"

"Everything."

Maggie snorted. "Okay…"

Alex stopped and looked at Maggie directly. "I'm sorry. I just… I had to just put everything out of my mind for the trials. The bad… and the good."

"I'm listening," Maggie said.

"And then the Games were coming up and even though I made the team, I had a lot of work to do."

"Looks like it paid off, Ms. Flag Bearer."

She grinned. "You saw?"

"I watched all your races live," she admitted.

"You did?"

"I did."

Alex blushed. "Even after I didn't respond to you? Why?"

She shrugged. "National pride?" she joked. "In reality, though, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

Alex took a breath. "Good. Because it has been _really_ hard to stop thinking about you."

Maggie looked at her askance, unsure whether or not to believe it.

"Did you see my semi-final?"

"Oh God, where you stumbled?"

She nodded. "That was your fault."

"My fault?!" Maggie laughed. "How on Earth was that _my_ fault?"

"I hadn't considered you might be watching my races until that moment."

Maggie just looked at her. "Really?"

"Really. And then the thought that you might just popped into my head right as the starting gun went off."

"Did you want me watching?"

"I wanted you to watch, yeah," she said, stepping closer to Maggie. "I was hoping I could come back to town and see you, talk to you," she said, softly.

"About what?" Maggie asked, taking a small step towards her.

"This," Alex said, cupping Maggie's face in her hands and kissing her gently, slowly.

For her part, Maggie melted into the kiss, having frequently thought, over the last six weeks, of the kiss they'd previously shared. After a pleasant few moments, she pulled back and looked up at Alex. "So you're saying you like me?" she grinned. "Because that's what I'm getting."

Her response was another kiss.

 

***

 

It was around ura ten when Maggie awoke the next morning, limbs tangled with Alex's. They'd spent the majority of the evening in Maggie's bed, exploring each other's bodies. Alex asked Maggie about her various scars, while Maggie tenderly kissed along Alex's strong muscles in awe.

She nuzzled the woman in her arms, who gently nuzzled back and opened her eyes, sleepily.

"I thought you didn't sleep in."

"I guess I've never had a good enough reason to before," she remarked, placing a soft kiss on Maggie's naked shoulder. "Last night was amazing."

"Still think I'm straight?" Maggie teased.

Alex chuckled, a low sound coming from deep within her chest, then pulled Maggie closer and began kissing her softly, answering her question.

As she kissed Alex back, Maggie's only thought was that she could definitely get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, this is my first foray into writing from Maggie's perspective. How was it? Should I try more from her viewpoint or should I just stick to Alex going forward?
> 
>  
> 
> **As usual, each part of the series is a one-shot. There will be no second chapters or continuations within the series, so please don’t ask. :) Once I’m done with all the Earths, I may do a smaller collection based on some of my favourites from this series but that’s a long way off.**


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